


True Selves

by spndeansammylov



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Abusive John Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester First Time Having Sex, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, First Time, John Winchester Rapes Dean Winchester, M/M, Physical Abuse, Rape Aftermath, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Abuse, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:34:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29434668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spndeansammylov/pseuds/spndeansammylov
Summary: One second everything was fine and the next it all went to hell.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/John Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 45
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

Dean didn't know when exactly it had happened. One second everything was fine and the next it all went to hell. Sam and he were just joking around and the next moment he heard his father say through clenched teeth that his brother should never come back when he would walk out that door. 

He knew what Sam would do at that moment. What choice he would make. And then. Yeah ... Then. Well, then things went quiet for a while. He sat in a motel room trying to find anything his father and him could hunt down, found nothing out of the ordinary for once and gave up after searching every newspaper this small town had to offer. 

He looked around.  
This room was nothing special, just like every other room Sam and he had occupied during their time together. He had to suppress the blue feeling that was trying to creep up on him. Sam knew what he was doing, and really. Who could blame him, either? A kid as smart as Sammy, Stanford could be proud to get one as smart as him. He didn't begrudge him, really. 

It just happened so quickly. He couldn't really prepare himself for having only his father for company from now on. Who was now in no mood to talk to him, more than ever. 

It gradually became harder to bear the silence. And Dad's mood swings. 

Ever since Sam left, it seemed like he couldn't do anything right anymore. The guns needed to be cleaned again because "Jeez, Dean. Did you even look when you cleaned them?" Which after a while turned into "Could you maybe not chew like a cow when I'm around you? You'd think you grew up under a rock." And now they were to the point where he was trying to find really just anything to hunt, hoping that his father's mood would lighten up a bit if he could get one win in. Of course, the world did for him no favors and so he found nothing. For three whole weeks. 

"Are you even looking for a hunt or are you just warming your seat?" His dad snapped at him as he entered the room. Dean sighed. Dad was irritated, but if he talked back, it would mean he was picking a fight. And he didn't want to be next to him 24/7 in the Impala, in their room, or anywhere else if they were fighting. So, he gritted his teeth. 

"You know, I just finished the same stack of newspapers for the third time .... "

He didn't see the hand coming, nor did he see his father move. Yet, his cheek stung.  
Did he ... Had his father hit him?

"Did you just hit me?" He looked at his father with puzzled eyes and held his cheek. He had never hit him before without a really good reason. He had gotten a spanking a few times, yes, but something really bad had to have happened first. Like after the Shtriga or Flagstaff. 

Yeah, that was the number one memory he didn't want to think about anymore. After Sam had run away, and he had to call Dad to tell him he needed help because he didn't know where Sam was? He could remember it as if it happened only yesterday. How he told him through clenched teeth to wait for him. How his dad hadn't held back with his belt and that he couldn't sit for a few days after that.

It had been a long time, and he knew it was just Dad's panic for Sam that had freaked him out. He just had to make sure Dean took his responsibility for Sam seriously.  
They were often alone in a part of town where bad things could happen if you weren't careful. Sam was a sweet little boy who lived in motels where rooms were sometimes rented by the hour. During those times, they both had to be quiet so as not to draw attention to the two boys who were without their parents, most of the time. Easy prey. 

So, he had to get in line when Dad told him to keep an eye on the neighborhood and watch out for Sam, he knew that was his dad's way of showing him he trusted him. That he could count on Dean that way. 

And now, he had hit him.  
"What did I do?" he asked, stunned. He couldn't think of any reason that would justify his dad doing that.

"You know why" was all his dad said as he walked over to the fridge and took a sip of the beer he had just pulled out. Dean rubbed his cheek. If he insisted on an explanation, there would only be arguing. He decided to let it go at that.

In retrospect that was a mistake. 

He found a hunt a few days later. Some children were taken from school, but no one had seen anything. They attended a few classes and on their way to the next class they were just gone. 

After some investigation, he found that every forty years, reports of missing children exploded, only to disappear from the news again with no clue as to what had happened. They needed to talk to the devastated parents. His dad did most of the talking while he looked around and that's how he found some whitish flakes on the floor outside the back door. 

He told his dad about his finding and they searched if there were any mines or factories in the area that produced anything containing white powder. They found a defunct sawmill that had a side business cutting marble slabs in the early 60s. Huge piles of this powder was still in the warehouse. Even the floor was full of it, so they could see the footprints in it that looked like something really big and heavy had dragged itself through the dust.

They were too late.

The thing must have taken already enough kids, even though they searched every nook and cranny, they found nothing. Dean searched frantically to see if there were any other options, asked around and searched the school for another time. Still, nothing. He had to realize that it was too late.

That was the day his dad had hit him with his fist. 

"I'm just saying maybe if we just talk to the parents from the first abductions forty years ago, maybe if we specifically ask about the white dust where the kids must have been taken? It might trigger some lost memory, some monster might have disguised itself as some worker. Maybe they had seen more of this stuff around town? We just should do something, damn it!" 

His father was just sitting on the couch, a glass of whiskey in his hand, staring ahead. 

"If you'd only listen to me and not hide behind your bottle, we could have done something!"

His father immediately jumped up and slammed his fist right into his face. 

"Yeah, what do you think you could have done, huh?" his father hissed at him as he lay on the floor staring up at him in disbelief.

"You think you're so big and brave, you'd just march right into town and everything would be fine? You imagined already how you would save the day and all those kids would just be back and living a happy life? Yeah, if only you were more like Sam ... then I'm sure we could have figured it out sooner. We could have saved those kids if you hadn't been so dense! You were wasting time we didn't have, and now twelve kids are missing. Twelve! Now presumably dead and the monster will be safe for the next 40 years. Well done, Dean," he sneered.

Dean nodded meekly. They had been in this town for two whole weeks now, and he had only just been able to piece it all together. Now, when it had been too late. He closed his eyes.  
His father was right, it was his fault. 

"Go to sleep and turn off the light. I can't stand you no longer." His father closed the door behind him. He was alone. Dean just sat where he was and thought of the children who had endured God knows what. He could barely hold back a scream. 

After that, it happened more and more often. 

They were at a bar hustling pool together. Dad was the one who had to talk his supposedly drunken son back from losing all their money in a game of pool. Yet, where it used to be friendly banter before, now he had to endure Dad's harsh tone. 

"Come on, kid, you really think you can beat this gentleman? The last time you couldn't even hold your cue right. I bet you're too drunk to even get it up. Ain't I right," he winked at the guys around him.

Chuckles went through the on-looking crowd.  
It was demeaning, and he never wanted to hear his father reference to his dick at all. Still, he had to play along, and as the night moved on, his father's slurs lured the audience to join in.

"You should find another hobby, kid. With lips like yours, it shouldn't be that hard," someone in the crowd quipped. Dean looked up startled, sure that his dad would stop this. But instead, his dad just joined the laughing crowd. 

He didn't want to play nice anymore. He wanted to end this thing so he could go back to the motel and just forget about that night. 

So, he sunk ball after ball, not giving the other guy another opportunity to play the game, and won. He grabbed the money laying on the edge of the pool table and disappeared out the door like a bat out of hell. He waited nervously at the Impala for his father, but after it became clear he wouldn't follow, Dean got behind the steering wheel and drove the few minutes to their room. 

He went to bed early, sure his dad had found some company for the night and would be back in the wee hours of the morning. 

For the next six days he didn't hear from him again.

He was despairing. What if the bikers had taken out their anger on his father? Why hadn't he just played along? It was just a little taunting, nothing he couldn't handle. His father knew how to play with the crowd, he should have trusted him. Well, now he didn't know what happened after he abandoned him to fend for himself. He was such a moron. 

A day after that, he tried to reach the bartender from that night, but the guy behind the bar told him a family emergency had forced him to leave the state. His colleagues didn't know when he would be back, so no one knew what happened that night. There was no video surveillance either, not in the parking lot and certainly not in the bar. The bar was a bust. 

Every phone call went straight to voice mail. All he could do was wait.

After the sixth day, the door to his room was flung open and his father was standing in the doorway. 

"Dad?"  
"Pack your bags! Three minutes packed and strapped in or I'm leaving without you!" was all he seemed to care to say. Dean knew better than to argue with him in a temper like that. Sam had done that enough and it had never accomplished more than a few extra laps in morning practice anyway. Nevertheless, he was more than relieved that apparently nothing more serious had happened to his father.

His dad didn't bring it up and so Dean decided not to get too worked up about it. After all, his dad had to know how concerned he had been. The quiet days and the quieter nights, how he'd turned the TV to the lowest setting just so he could listen if his dad came home. How he would sometimes hear the other residents turn their keys and be sure that had to be his father at his door. Only to get up and look out to find that no one was there at all. 

His father hadn't mentioned where he was or why he hadn't called him. Dean thought after the mood his father had been in lately, maybe it was for the best. In the end, he let it drop.


	2. Chapter 2

"My God, can't you even do anything right. Are you too stupid to put gas in the car, or what?" Dad came rushing up to him and snatched the pump nozzle out of his hand. 

"Go get us something for the road. I don't need your sorry ass standing around here dreaming about my little ponies all day." With that, he pushed Dean away from the Impala. The next customer in line stared at Dean, who ducked his head and walked into the small store like his father had told him to. 

The gas pump had been outdated, the nozzle not latching properly. He had tried to ... Yes. Anyway. It seemed like he couldn't do anything right at all. 

His father was just so cruel most of the time now. He tried to be better, but after one reprimand after another, he was more prone to making mistakes. He couldn't help it, but he was nervous most of the time now. He still wore a black eye from the last time he screwed up.

He stood in front of the beef jerky, trying to find Dad's favorite, but it was empty. He sighed, he could picture exactly how his father would blame him. He was sure of it. He picked up the next similar thing, paid, and headed for the car. They drove in silence and Dean found that he couldn't think of anything else since he got in the car. 

His thoughts circled in his head around that stupid beef jerky and how his father would react to such news. He couldn't read him anymore. He was sweating and had to wipe his hands on his knees every few minutes. He didn't know himself like this, why couldn't he do anything right? Hold on, no. What? He didn't do anything wrong, why would he think that? It's just a stupid beef jerky, for God's sake. His father had to deal with it, just like every other person on the planet.

His father just looked over at him while shaking his head and drove on in silence. The beef jerky wouldn't be the only thing he had screwed up. Apparently he was responsible for the sun shining too brightly, the radio not playing a decent song, and so on. 

By evening, he didn't even remember the beef jerky thing when his father bumped him into the edge of the table as he walked by, apparently for being too slow to step out of the way.

And so it went on.  
On days when his father was in a good mood, he could believe that everything was the way it used to be. His father had always been stricter and so he was used to it when the tone was a little rougher. And then he would just sneeze too loudly, drop something, and his father would be on him in a flash.

The taunts got worse. He didn't hear from Sam for over a year and, OK he could admit to himself. He was lonely. His dad was with him most of the time now, but always so quiet. If it wasn't for the barking orders, his dad wouldn't talk to him at all, it appeared to him. And his "yes, sir" and "I'm sorry's" weren't much better. 

Nothing was sacred anymore. When Dean ate a burger, his dad would make snide remarks about how he'd put on quite a bit of fat. Although the contrary was more likely to be the case.

After running 20 miles uphill, were he thought his heart would give out at the top, he had to conclude that maybe his father had a point. 

So, he tried to exercise even more than usual, and also watched his diet more. Sam would be so proud of him. Sam. 

What is he doing now? Did he make friends, does he like it in his dorm? Does ... he think of him sometimes and remembers that they had good times as a family, too. He sighed. It doesn't matter. Sam made his decision. And the way Dad was acting now, it had been the right one to pull the strings in time.

He sighed again. He would love to have a conversation with Sam. Even if it was just for a few minutes. Just to, you know. Just talk about normal things. He looked out the window at the parking lot, lost in thought. It was empty, no one there. The story of his life. He snorted. 

"Did you hit your head, or what's so funny?" came his father's resounding voice. He straightened up and looked into his father's contrite face. "Nothing. I just thought a few hours of training would do me good, sir". He waited for his father's reaction.

"Oh, right. Have you realized yourself that you're just too much of a burden on a hunt? It's about damn time. Do you remember when you had a free shot, but you hesitated? Damn, I was so ashamed of you." John pulled up a chair by the window and sat down by his son. "You know, if Sam would be here? You would be standing in line alright. But, without him, I don’t know what you playing at, but one day you are gonna kill me with your untrained attitude. You're gonna have to get a lot better, boy to keep up with me. I can't protect your ass all the time. Do you understand me?"

Dean nodded.  
"What's that?"  
"Yes, sir."  
John simply watched as his son sat with his head hunched, staring at the carpet pattern. 

He felt a small twinge of guilt for the way he treated his oldest son. It was just the way it was ... if Dean had been better. More attentive, more empathetic or something, Sam wouldn't have had to leave. Now he had to settle for the second choice, who wasn't really good at research and just moped around.

His cocky attitude, which had gotten them into enough trouble, was hard to stop, but he was sure he could do it after a while. Dean was dangerous to himself. Reckless and not carefully thought out. Whereas, Sam thought first, worked out a strategy and thereby it was more often than not a damn victory for them. They killed the monster, saved the civilians and moved on. During this, he had the time to follow a possible trail of the yellow-eyed demon, but now? He looked at his son in disgust.

He had to make do with the brawn. Everything dragged on. He lost so much time to avenge his Mary and didn't even get the monster most of the time. Sure, out of ten hunts, in six they were able to save the civilians and kill the monster. Just not like before, were it felt like they could just save everybody. 

He got easily irritated, frustrated and he knew he let Dean feel it too. And yes, he felt sorry for him, too. Still, Dean would just do something stupid, or, just wouldn't really do anything and he couldn't even stand to be in the same room with him. He cursed Dean for not being able to just be .... better.

He needed more space.  
"Dean, make sure you get a few extra laps in your evening training, OK. We have a werewolf to hunt tomorrow, so I need you in top form." 

Dean didn't need to be told again. He was glad to have his peace and quiet for just a little while. Not to think about what he was doing wrong or mull over every word that left his mouth. His father was in such a bad mood, he had to be careful not to say anything stupid. And apparently he was putting his foot in his mouth more often than not. It was better to be quiet so as not to provoke his father's anger. Needless to say, his nerves were pretty strained lately. 

He picked up his jacket and went out the door. He had gotten into the habit of running in his normal clothes. If he were hunting, he wouldn't have the luxury of more suitable shoes for running or a jacket that wouldn't chafe as much. He gritted his teeth and ran.

The route was new to him, but when he saw the logo of a bar in the distance, he hesitated briefly and wondered if he would dare to go in. A short stop should be possible. When he entered the bar it was as if he was entering an other, more peaceful life from his memory. The familiar feeling, the music and even a few glances from single girls at the bar all lured him right in. 

As he stumbled right out just a few hours later it dawned on him that he was probably in trouble. His dad would be anything than happy to find his son lightly drunk so short before a hunt. He made his way back to the motel room.  
Maybe if his dad would be already asleep, he could sneak in and nobody would be the wiser?

On the second try, he got the key in the lock. Huh, he must have been drunker than he thought. He opened the door and looked into his father's glaring eyes. He couldn't even get a word out, his father just dragged him into the room and right up against the wall opposite the door. His head bounced off it and he would have fallen if John hadn't grabbed him by the collar, turned him around and used the momentum to drive a fist into his ribs. It took his breath away and he fell to the ground. 

He gasped and struggled for air as his dad pulled him back up and pushed him right into a corner. "Dad, please," was his feeble attempt to calm his father, but he remained gloomily staring at him, somewhat out of breath.

"You really are so careless to risk your life and mine just for a few hours of fun? You stupid son of a bitch! You are such a fucking disappointment. I don't even know why I bother with you at all." 

Dean felt something inside him break. His father was the last person he had on this earth. Everyone else had abandoned him. Everyone else had realized that he wasn't worth dealing with. What could he offer? Nothing. His father was the only one and he had failed him. 

"I’m sorry, so sorry. Dad, please … " he whimpered.

His father just stood there. He mumbled to him, "Shut up and go to sleep, damn it," and disappeared into the bathroom. 

He ached all over and his blurry sight hinted at a concussion. Damn, the hunt was going to be a bitch.


	3. Chapter 3

He was awakened by a hard kick to his shin.

"Get your lazy ass out of bed, we're on a strict schedule!" his father barked at him. 

Dean scrambled out of bed and suppressed a yelp from himself. Damn, his head was killing him. He pulled his jeans over his now aching shin, made sure to avoid looking at himself in the reflection of the microwave in the small kitchencorner, and was ready to go. His father emerged from the bathroom about twenty minutes later and they drove to the nearest diner, which promised home cooking. The waitress, a nice middle-aged lady, sauntered over to their table. 

"Good morning, gentlemen. What can I do for you?" When her gaze drifted to Dean, she winced and hushed, "Oh, honey. What happened to you? Do you want me to bring you some ice for that first?" and pointed at his forehead.

While Dean stammered, his father had the sweetest smile on his face. 

"Thank you, sweetheart, but my son is just clumsy. He didn't see the family dog when he got up from the couch and as a consequence flew right into the coffee table. Doctor said it looks worse than it really is. Even got some meds for it. We're fine, but thanks for your concern." 

Dean ducked his head. He wished he had some headphones, he didn't need this kind of sugar-coated bullshit from his dad. After his dad ordered for them both, he tuned out everything around him. 

The waitress was already back with their order because when his dad kicked him in the shin under the table, the same one and even in the same place, he hissed and turned his gaze to his dad. 

"Don't you upset me son, I told you to eat and eat fast, ‘cause your ass won't see another meal until tomorrow until you know how to behave in public."

Dean nodded, picked up his fork, and paused. His dad had ordered him some fruit shit? That was a joke, right? His stomach growled. He knew better than to argue with his father, it would only piss him off more, and if his blurry vision was any indication? He couldn't use another blow to the head, his concussion had to be a doozy. 

So, he didn't say anything and listlessly ate his breakfast. The grumbling in his stomach subsiding, but he was still hungry. He watched as his father ate the last of his breakfast. It must have been some pancakes with syrup at some point, some bacon and hash browns. His stomach growled again. Damn. 

His dad ignored him the rest of the day so he could snooze in the passenger seat of the car. At some point he must have fallen asleep, as Dad banged the door with the flat of his hand, he was startled by the loud bang and jumped up in his seat.

"Come on, damn it. I don't even know why I bother with you!" His father went into their room.

Dean went to open the car door, but a violent stabbing stopped him. Oh shit, his rib just moved in his rib cage. He sighed dejectedly. Great, a broken rib on top of a concussion. He didn't want his father to come back out and maybe drag him back to their room, so he carefully sat up and slowly made his way to their room. 

The rest of the day were just researching for them both, fact checking to make sure they hadn't missed something, and then at night it was time. Full moon. The werewolf would be on the prowl again.

Dean tried to protect himself in layers; he had bandaged his ribs in the bathroom, pulled on two black T-shirts over them and a red plaid shirt. They were ready. 

They weren't ready at all. 

Dean found it hard to hold his gun with a steady hand, his vision blurred, but at night ... he couldn't tell much from one another. He needed to hear where his father was and suddenly heard a loud crash. Oh shit, the wolf! He ran in the direction where all the ruckus was and heard a loud gunshot that split the night. 

The wolf howled and crashed to the ground. He came to a stop in front of a heavy lump on the ground and witnessed the guy's fangs retract making him look like any other human. There was no trace of a dangerous werewolf anymore. He hated it when monsters looked so human.

He turned to his dad and was about to tell him that when he saw a blurry figure rushing toward him. Since he had no clear field of fire, he threw himself at the humane looking werewolf and collided with it at what felt like 80 miles per hour. 

Unfortunately the thing quickly caught itself again and tried to rip his throat out. He gripped its shoulders and braced himself with all his strength against it. Which admittedly wasn't much with a broken rib, but if he let go, he would be dead. Finally, a shot rang out and the second werewolf slumped over him, dead. 

After an endless time it was pulled away from him. He stood up with shaking knees and looked at the second werewolf, it was a child. Oh damn. 

His father was fuming.  
Not only did Dean seemingly not remember his training and just mindlessly run into battle without a weapon. No, he'd also forgotten something important. Finding out in advance what they were up against, and more importantly, how many there were. Damn useless.

"Go get the fuel," his father barked. Dean had trouble catching his breath and squeezed out a "Yes, sir," wanting to get all this shit over with. 

By the time they drove back, his father was a powder keg.  
Every time he reached out to change the station or put something in the glove compartment, Dean winced. He tried to suppress it, but his nerves were shot. He knew his father was angry, this hunt had been risky and he had overlooked checking the tooth gaps. With that, he could have maybe foreseen that there had to be two werewolves. He had put them in danger and that could have cost them their lives. He knew he would get it at the motel and he dreaded the outcome.

John parked the Impala outside their motel room, but stayed in the car. His anger boiled up rather than simmering down. He remembered every stupid thing his son had done, not just recently. Heavens, had he always been this stupid or was he just noticing it now that the more intelligent of the duo was gone? 

Dean was leaning against his passenger door. Oh damn, he wasn't going to sleep another round. It was like he wasn't doing anything as just that anymore, but he felt so tired. His eyes dropped shut.

"Wake up, NOW!" barked John at his son.  
"Go and take the bags to the room, I'll catch up."

Dean tried to get up, but felt dizzy and slumped back against his seat. 

"I'm sorry, but ...", yeah, but what? His father hadn't shown any concern for him in the last twelve months, why should he now?  
"Sorry," he heaved himself out of the car and had to brace himself against the door frame. 

John kept watching him. Instead of a spark of empathy, he felt his anger turn to rage. 

"Did you get bit, son?" he growled at Dean's recoiling back. "If you're such a stupid son of a bitch that didn't even make sure you weren't bitten... I swear to God, I will personally put a bullet in you if you are!" Dean just shook his head in denial. No, the teeth were never anywhere near him.

"At least one thing you got right for once," his dad muttered more to himself than to Dean. Dean nodded anyway. 

He got the bags out of the trunk, gritting his teeth and trying not to move too much with his broken rib. When he got to the door, he noticed that the motel key was with his father. Who was still sitting in the car.  
He leaned his forehead against the door. Fuck. 

But not wanting to show any weakness, he didn't want to put the duffel bags on the floor, so he stayed there and waited. 

He was sweating. After what seemed like forever, his father finally got out of the Impala and unlocked the motel room. When John entered the room and Dean was just closing the door behind him, he froze. 

Oh, he didn't! John stared in disbelief at the room in front of him. 

This was the point of no-return.

His father turned with such a rush that he nearly dislocated his son’s arm as he yanked the bags off Dean's shoulder. 

"Wha... Ahh! DAD?!" Dean bounced against the wall next to the door. 

"ARE YOU CRAZY?!" His father grabbed him by the collar and bounced him against the wall a few times. 

"Room service? For real?! What did I drill into you all your life, huh, Dean? WHAT!?" 

Dean was stunned. He didn't know which way was up and down anymore, his already shaken mind must be completely confused now. Damn, that hurt. His father had grabbed him by the neck and pinned him against the wall. 

"I ... I don't know what you mean, AAHH!" John had punched his fist into his right side. Dean tried to get enough air into his lungs, but breathing was just painful. He thought about the real possibility of not surviving this.

"Room service has been here! What if we had left something behind, huh? What if she had found some weapons or hell even the notes on the wall would have been enough, right? How many times have I told you to put the 'do not disturb' sign on the door AND tell the manager not to bother cleaning while we're here?" 

"I ... I." 

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Did you ever do that to Sammy when I trusted you to take care of him? What did you have withheld from me all these years? IT'S IMPOSSIBLE that you've just now become SO MONUMENTALLY stupid, or isn't it?"

Dean's weak attempts to free himself from his grip were futile, so he tried to yell for his father to stop, he was in serious pain, damn it. But that only made John's hand slip, so he got his hand over his mouth. 

John felt his son's warm breath against his palm and felt him trying to swallow. His lips were moving and his voice was slurred, but he wanted to say something. 

Not even now would he learn to just shut up and do as he was told!  
He pressed his body tightly against Dean's to keep him from escaping and had to laugh when Dean tried to move away, but just managed to squirm like an eel.

He had to put him in his place. He would get the spanking of his life, maybe Dean would become more reliable on hunts. As it was now, he was just a burden. 

While John was pulling his belt out of the loops with one hand, he said to him "You know? When Sam was gone, I thought it was for the best at first. He never did what I told him to do, always questioned everything. He always had to have an opinion about everything and I just thought if he wasn't here anymore? Then, I could finally have my peace of mind." 

He had taken off his belt, stretched out the arm with which he fixed his son and took out a swing of the makeshift whip. 

"I thought I had you anyway, you'd do exactly what I say," he hit Dean rather lightly in his lower back, but rather enjoyed Dean's answering hiss, "but then I caught on to something."

He couldn't really swing so he pressed Dean warningly once more firmly against the wall and let him go. 

"That you're just -" - crack - "a fucking" - crack - "burden" - crack - "for" - crack - "ME!" - crack. 

He watched as Dean let out a broken scream, and when he hit him one more time. The scream was loud. Too loud. He pressed against his son and covered his mouth with one hand again.

"Don't be so loud, we don't want the fucking police here, or do we?"  
That fucking pathetic son of his couldn't even handle that. He had raised him to be a tough soldier! And now? What kind of son had he got!?

"Just like a fucking sissy! We had one just like you in my unit. You know what we did to him to stand his man so he never would risk our fucking lives again? Yeah, that's what you need! I'm gonna show you how to be a real man!"


	4. Chapter 4

His father must have gone crazy, otherwise he could no longer explain it. He didn't know what he was even talking about! His dad had been the last one to search the room before the hunt. And OK, surely he could have told the maid, whom he had seen here a few days before, not to mind their room.... But he had seriously thought that his father would have taken care of that when he checked them in. 

He felt how his jeans where pushed down and tried to get free. The spanking before had been painful as hell, even over his jeans. He didn't need another one, certainly not without them! 

"Dad, come on. Please, I get it, okay? It'll never happen again, just...," but then he felt his underwear being pulled under his ass and he stiffened.

"DAD?" What are you doing? Stop that!"  
His father didn't listen at all. Instead he talked at him through clenched teeth that this would show him how he should behave and that he wouldn't accept such a loser as a son.

The words really hurt, but then his father thrust two fingers into his entrance at the same time and all hell broke loose. 

"No!!! No, go away, you asshole! Are you crazy? You son of a bitch! You sick fuuuuck." 

John didn't hesitate. This wasn't for fun, so he didn't care how it would feel to just shove his fingers up his son's unprepared ass.

"Shut up, Dean. This is necessary. Hold still now!" John spit into his free hand and rubbed his semi-hard cock with it. He made a few pumping motions, but he wasn't getting any harder, so it would have to do. 

He gripped Dean's neck tighter, placed his cock at Dean's entrance with the other and thrust with all his might. 

Dean's scream would have been deafening if John hadn't slammed his head against the wall one more time. After he was sure his cock was going to stay in, he raised his right hand and slapped it against Dean's mouth. 

"You've got to stay in line, boy. You've got to follow orders or someone might kill you if you're not careful! Say it!"

Dean had never been in so much pain. He roared into his father's hand, trying to claw his way in front or behind him, but couldn't escape. He could feel the skin ... there, not adjusting to his father's d... oh God, he felt sick. 

He had to swallow a few times to keep from throwing up against the hand gripping his mouth shut. Who knew, maybe he would choke in his father's grip. So, he swallowed again convulsively, and after he was sure that the contents of his stomach wouldn't make a way out - for the moment - he concentrated on what his father was muttering.

"That will teach you ... Should have done it earlier. ... maybe Sam would have needed that too, then he wouldn't have left his family ...."

He didn't want to hear more. That sick son of a bitch, if he thought he was going to let him do something like that to Sam...  
Dean tried again to brace himself against the wall, to push him back, anything. However, his father removed his hand from his mouth and punched his ribs in rapid succession. 

He heard another snap.  
John pushed with all his might against his son's ass as he went to his knees. It helped to thrust in as far as he could, he bottomed out. 

Not much longer and everything would finally be back to normal. Dean would be with his head in the game, finally forgetting about Sam and being more of an asset than the burden he was on a hunt. He took no consideration and started a brutal pace.

Dean could feel his skin ripping. His father thrust against him a few times and as he came to orgasm, he rammed Dean against the wall where his head bounced back and everything went black. 

Dean blinked against the sun shining directly into his eyes. It wasn't like he woke up sometimes and had to remember what town he was in, what they were doing there, and so on. No, he remembered everything immediately. 

He was lying motionless on the floor, checking out the situation. He searched the room with his eyes for his father. That had... oh God. Though. NO. He couldn't think about that right now, he had to know where the hell his father had gone. 

He turned his head and felt like his whole body was tipping to the side. Oh, shit. The concussion must be epic by now. He tried to sit up, but had to pull himself up by the bedspread, which was hanging halfway off the side of the floor. He only managed to get into a semi-upright position. He didn't dare make a sound, lest he alert his father that he was awake.

He looked around and only now realized that the shower was running. His father was taking a shower. He had to act quickly. 

He tugged his underwear and jeans back up from his ankles as best he could without bothering to zip them. It would have to do for now. Then, he hobbled over to the chairs next to the door, where the Impala's keys lay, and grabbed his jacket. 

He stepped out of the door, but left it ajar so as not to alarm his father with the click of the lock, and shuffled as fast as he could to the car. He had to grit his teeth as he got behind the drivers seat, put the key in the ignition and started it. The rumble of the engine would alert his father, so he drove out toward the unknown, as fast as now his baby could carry him.

He could barely sit, his vision was blurry and he couldn't concentrate on what was happening around him. He was a danger to the people around him on the roads, but he had no other choice. He drove as fast as he dared, and as he took the next exit, he realized he was on a direct path to Sam.  


He kept driving. 

It was like he was in a fog, his thoughts tumbling together in his brain. He was successfully repressing what had happened until now, and he had no intention of stopping. But he was thinking about Sam all the time. How would he react if he called him? Of course he couldn't tell him what had happened, but he just had to.... He just had to see him. 

If only for a little while. He wouldn't even be noticeable, he could maybe sleep on the couch for a night and, and.... 

Oh, he was pathetic. He felt like a dog kicked out of its home and trying to wriggle into another. Sam had his own life. He hadn't talked to him in over a year, hadn't even felt the need to talk to his big brother. And now, what was he supposed to say? He didn't know.

Still, just... Just for a little while. He would try to reach him first and maybe Sam would be in a giving mood and wouldn't mind seeing the family's fuck up. 

He rubbed his face and winced. Ahhw, damn that hurt. He had to get to Sam, was like a loop in his head, so he kept driving. 

When he was about an hour away from Sam, he parked at a gas station so he could gather his thoughts and call Sam in peace. He fumbled for his phone and was relieved to find it tucked into his jacket like he had the night before.

He hesitated.  
He took a deep breath and coughed. Ow, he'd forgotten his ribs. Son of a bitch. He breathed shallowly for a few minutes until the pain subsided and called Sam's number. He didn't know what he wanted more. For Sam to answer the call or to let it ring.

"Dean?" breathed Sam incredulously into the receiver.  
Dean froze.  
"Dean?" The voice sounded slightly worried.

Oh fuck, he hadn't thought this whole thing through. His father had been right, he hadn't ....  
"Dean? I can hear your breath. Fuck, are you okay?" his brother's visibly panicked voice snapped him out of his thoughts.  
"Y..." he had to clear his throat and tried again "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry."  
He could hear the relieved breath on the other end.  
"Hiya, Sammy," he whispered into the phone.  
"Hey Dean," an equally breathless Sam whispered back.

"Uhm, just. I ... I ...." damn. Had it ever been this awkward between them? He shook his head at his own behavior. And hissed, oww fuck. His head, damn it!

"Are you hurt?" Sam's tone was empathetic. A tone he was surprised to still recognize after not hearing it for over a year now. 

"No, I'm fine, really. Yeah... I just wanted to talk to you for a little while. Make sure you're okay?" He shut his eyes. He was such a coward. He would love to face Sam and see for himself that Sammy was okay, not just on the phone.  
He just didn't know how to ask him to do so.

Gingerly, he placed his head against the steering wheel. He needed to soak up that feeling that not everyone in this world didn't give a shit about him. 

"Yeah, it's all good. Um, I'm actually on semester break, so ..."  
Dean wished with all his heart that Sam wanted to see him, too. If he was already too much of a coward to ask him about it, maybe Sam would.  
Please Sammy, please ask me.

"Yes?" If it weren't for his ribs, he would have held his breath. But he couldn't get enough air into his lungs as it was, so he just kept his eyes closed and tried to brace himself for the rejection. 

"So, I was thinking you could come visit me sometime? I mean, if you have a little time. Maybe?" 

Dean's cheeks hurt, but his smile was audible in his voice as he replied eagerly, "Always. Could you send me where I need to be? I'm not far from you, I can be there today." 

"Today?" Sam's surprised voice silenced him.  
"Uh, if it's not too much trouble? I mean, I can ...," he broke off. He didn't want to be by himself, he was afraid at the memories that would be stirred up in him. He figured if he kept quiet about it now, Sam wouldn't notice how pathetic he really was.

"I could come visit you in a few days if you want? Just for a few minutes of your time, heh?" He rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. Shit.

"NO! Uh, I mean, no. Please, just drive if you're nearby. I'll wait for you, I have this little apartment, I'm sure you'll like it. The couch is nothing special, but it's great to sleep on. I'm totally looking forward to seeing you." Sam babbled on. 

Dean had to smile again. That was officially the most he'd had to smile since Sam left. 

"Great. I'll be there. I'll see you."  
"Okay, yeah. See you later."

Dean flipped his phone shut and straightened up. Sam wanted to see him, he almost couldn't believe it. He looked at himself in the rearview mirror. Oh fuck, but not like that. He had to get ready first.

He put his phone back in his jacket, got out of the car and heard a smacking sound as he rose from his seat. Cautiously battling his queasiness, he turned around and saw a pool of blood on the seat. He squinted. Huh. While holding on to the door with his left he grabbed the seat of his pants with his right. And grabbed right onto his blood-soaked jeans.

His face turned white as a sheet. When his father, when ... . No, he didn't want to think about how he had felt his skin tearing. He'd completely forgotten, but now. He had to do something. He couldn't just show up like this.

Slowly, he staggered to the gas station. As he entered, the little bell on the door jingled and everyone in the store stared at him. He ducked his head and limped through the aisles. Not sure what he could take to stop the bleeding in his butt.

He eyed the shelves and stopped abruptly in the women's section. Oh God, he felt mortified, but there. This could be the solution. If he put some of those um, 'menstrual pads' in his underwear. While it might not stop the bleeding, it would certainly soak it up. They were made for blood, right? It surely didn't matter where it came from. He picked up a small packet and wondered if he needed a couple of those white stick things so he could plug them in.... But no. The pads should do the trick.

He got to the cashier, who kept glancing at him as he scanned his purchase, but thankfully didn't approach him.  
"And I need the key to your restroom".  
"Uh, it's open. Just go out and left."

He nodded, picked up his purchase and headed for the Impala. He was glad his jacket was long enough to cover most of it, but he needed fresh clothes. He grabbed his duffel bag from the back seat and headed for the restroom.


	5. Chapter 5

Three cubicles, all thankfully empty, so he went to the last one and locked the door. The closed toilet lid was perfect to put his duffel bag on it. Then, he tried to read the packaging of the feminine pads, but his vision wasn't cooperating. Giving up he hoped he had the right thing and opened it. It was small, felt like cotton and had a strip on the back. He gave it a tug. Ah, it was sticky. Ok, so all he had to do was put a couple of these fuckers inside his fresh boxer briefs and he would be as good as new.

He changed out of his bloody underwear carefully and wiping any blood off his butt and thighs as best as he could. He didn't dare press the toilet paper against his entrance, the pads should do their job. Awkwardly he stuck about five of these wadded things against each other and stuck three more on top where he assumed it counted and put on this freshly prepared boxer briefs.

Urgs, what a feeling. Diapers must feel just like that. Briefly he thought, whether he might not have been better off using diapers right away, but immediately dismissed the idea. Besides, he didn't think the store had one in his size. 

He put on a new pair of jeans, zipped them up and walked out of the stall. Still empty. Good. He washed his hands. His old jeans and underwear were a lost cause so, he stuffed them in the dumpster next to the sink and put some paper towels over them. Only then did he dare look in the mirror. 

Whew. His father had done a thorough job. He felt a little disconnected as he looked at his numerous bruises and wounds. Somehow, he looked like he had been in a car accident and had only just survived.

He had not been aware that some of the knocks against the wall had led to a cut at the hairline. It must have bled profusely for some time, but then must have stopped of its own accord. His entire left ear and neck were soaked with dried blood and his eye was no better. Some of the blood must had got into his eye. That would explain why he sometimes saw everything as if through a veil.

His teeth were undamaged, thank God. Yet, his lips were split. Upper and lower lip. His forehead was swollen, but his nose was intact. It was the little things. 

He set about washing his face, flushed his eye and used up the entire supply of paper towels and just barely managed to get rid of all the blood. He stood up and looked at himself and sighed. This is as good as it gets.

He picked up his bag and slowly made his way to the car. Once there, he returned his duffel bag to the back seat and opened the driver's door.  
Where the seat looked like someone had been butchered in it.

Ah, damn. Now, he had to go all the way back to the bathroom to wash the blood away so he could get back in the car. He did just that, but stopped short as he stood in front of the holder for the paper towels, which was empty.  
He sighed again. Right.

Turned right around and walked as fast as a snail to the trunk, pulled out a couple of towels and just laid them across the seat. He would deal with that later. He was exhausted and still had some driving to do.

And if he was honest with himself, he couldn't wait to see Sam again.

He drove to the address Sam had given him, but stopped a few houses away. Here, where Sam had apparently lived for the last year, he sat in the car and looked at the windows. Maybe he would catch a glimpse of his little brother through one of them. 

He was nervous. 

What if Sam had changed in all this time? What if he no more know how to talk to each other? Was Sam perhaps too smart for him due to his studies? What if he didn't understand half the things Sam was telling him?

Oh fuck, what if Sam realized like his father what a dumb shit his brother was? He was almost hyperventilating. Maybe driving here was the wrong idea.

He didn't know how long he was just sitting here. All sorts of scenarios ran through his mind. His personal nightmare would be Sam realizing he was better off not getting involved in Dean's stuff and turning around and leaving him. Telling him that he should be lost or .... or dead. He swallowed. 

It was too late to back out, he had promised his little brother he would visit, so he had to do it now. He wouldn't want to be like his father, who said one thing and did another. He shuddered. No, he wasn't thinking about Dad.

As he scrambled out of the Impala, he was sweating profusely though not just from the sunny weather. Hesitantly, he made his way to Sam's apartment building and had to catch his breath for a few minutes. Damn, he was out of condition. When he got there, he looked for the right number and pressed the buzzer.

Nothing.  
He pressed again and waited anxiously. When no one answered, he had to hold on to the wall next to him, he ... . What? Oh!  
He nodded. Yes, it had been too good to be true.

He fought the burning behind his eyes and prepared to walk back to the car when the door in front of him was yanked open and Sam stood before him. Dean just stared at him tensely. 

"Dean! Sorry man, I just couldn't wait, I just had to come do... WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED!!!" Sam had been waiting like pins and needles for his brother to arrive since his phone call with Dean. He had stood at the window like Garfield, waiting. And when he heard the doorbell, he knew it had to be Dean and ran downstairs so he wouldn't have to wait any longer for his big brother.

Dean was now standing in front of him, only not in the way he had imagined all along. He was barely standing up on his feet. His face was a swollen mess and he had dried blood like everywhere. Jesus.

"Dean, oh fuck. You okay? Do you need a hospital?"  
"Huh, uh, sorry?" He had drifted off. His brother was standing right in front of him. How long had he dreamed of seeing him again? And now he was right there. To his embarrassment, he felt a tear run down his cheek. Damn. 

"Sammy," he pressed, trying to pull him closer to hug him, but he hadn't made the calculation with his injuries. He froze after getting his arms halfway to Sam's shoulder height and tried to cover it up so Sam wouldn't notice how badly he was hurting. After all, he hadn't come here to mess up Sam's semester break and turn his apartment into a hospital room.

Sam watched that Dean was trying to hide how much he must be in pain. He knew his brother even after this year of - what he now knew - truly unnecessary radio silence.

He slid his body under Dean's shoulder to steady him and said, "Shh, I got you. Come on, I'll help you up and then we'll just see. We'll see, OK? I have a medical kit in my bathroom, you know," he knew he was rambling, but his nerves were shot and now that he saw Dean in so much agony.

Dean, who was the master of hiding. Who would fight for his life and win even if he was badly hurt and slowly bleeding to death. And this wasn't something he had just made up, this had really happened more than once. He had to lead Dean back to the car just like now more times then he can count. Dad was driving while he tried to stop the bleeding. Dean would be dead by now if he hadn't pushed as hard or had twisted the tourniquet as taut as he could.

He swallowed. Who had done this for Dean when he wasn't there for him?  
Shit, he could see who. Nobody.

"Uh, do you think you can climb some stairs? I live a few floors up and the elevator in this building is out of order most of the time." He looked at his brother with apologetic eyes. If he thought Dean would put up with it, he'd carry him. And probably die in his sleep afterwards. Dean's ego... 

"I'll try" Dean said, gritting his teeth. These stairs were just what he had needed... 

Sam now knew there was something seriously off with Dean. The old Dean would have made a cocky remark and crawled up there with two broken legs, too. But admitting he wasn't sure if he could do it? Shit, Dean must be really badly hurt. He hoped he could help him.

They had to take several breaks. The steps were hell for his ribs, his ass was aflame and he felt that the bleeding had started again down there. He didn't see the steps properly and misjudged where the next step was. He stumbled and if it hadn't been for Sam, he would have tumbled headlong back down the entire flight of stairs they had climbed. 

"It's right there, Dean, just a few more steps and we'll be there." Sam wished he had taken an Appartement on the ground floor with all his heart.  
Dean nodded imperceptibly. He didn't think he could have climbed one more floor of those fuckers. Shit, he was exhausted.

Sam fumbled for the keys, unlocked the door, and led Dean straight to his couch. 

"See, we're here. We've made it. Now you sit down and I'll find the med kit and you'll see, you'll be as good as new." Sam wished so much that this was true. He hoped his brother hadn't sustained anything permanent. He didn't even know how and for how long he'd been driving around like this. 

And where the hell was their father? He should have been Dean's backup, dammit! Well, that was gonna have to wait. Now he had to help Dean get out of his jacket before he got heat stroke. He had air conditioning, but the thing was unreliable. In fact, he suspected it was heating rather than cooling most of the time. 

Dean was barely on the couch and was immediately asleep.

When Sam returned from the bathroom, he saw Dean sprawled out on the couch. Half sitting, half lying down, with all his clothes on and drooling. He just stood there, needing to soak up that feeling of finally being whole again.

He gently pulled Dean's legs onto the couch and laid his head on the cushion. He didn't dare take off his clothes lest he wake him up and it was excessively warm so he didn't need a blanket. He sat down in the seat next to him and just looked at him. 

Over that year, he could only stand it because he had no contact with his brother. He knew, if he just heard his voice? He would get such an immense feeling of homesickness for Dean that he would buy the next bus ticket and go wherever Dean was at the moment.

Still, he had always longed for more all his life. And now that he was about to attain it ... he discovered that if he had to do it all by himself? It had never been worth it. Not at all.

He stroked Dean's cheek. How much he had missed him. And now that he was here? He would never let him go again. Never again.


	6. Chapter 6

"Dean?! Dean! Come on, wake up! You're safe! You hear me? Wake up!" Sam didn't dare shake him awake; he hadn't yet glanced at his injuries. So, he put his hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezed. 

Dean's eyes snapped open. He saw someone close to him and winced.  
"Ahh fuck, my ribs" he clenched his teeth and pressed his arm against his rib cage trying to push through the pain. Fucking nightmares.

"Oh shit, are they broken? Let me see!"  
Dean couldn't get the protest out fast enough and so Sam had his jacket open and his tshirt up. 

"Whoa, two shirts? And you haven't died of heat stroke yet?" He pulled up the second shirt and just managed to pause in his shock. My God, Dean's ribs, sides, and stomach were purple.

"Jesus, Dean," he turned his puppy-dog eyes full force toward his brother. Dean stared at them closely, how he had missed them.

"I had a fight with a werewolf, so" he tried to lift the mood a little "you should see the other guy." He saw that Sam was not cheering up, so he asked seriously "Is it really that bad?" Sam just nodded. He needed to see the full extent of it. 

"That's not going to work. I need to see all of this to assess if you need a hospital or if we can handle this on our own." 

"I ... I haven't been bitten. I swear, Sammy. I would never put you in danger, you don't need a bullet for me, I swear, I just .... I." Sam looked at him in horror. Of course he knew Dean would never intentionally put him in danger and a bullet? What? Where was this coming from all of a sudden?

Sam saw that Dean was getting more and more agitated. His eyes were struggling to focus, he had to have a severe concussion. He could only imagine how his brother must be feeling right now. Dean's fears had to be stopped and he needs to take care of the wounds as soon as possible.

"Shhh, Dean. I know. You're my brother. As long as you're around, nothing bad is gonna happen to me. I'd never believe anything else. And you have to believe me, I'd never hurt you, either. You have to let me help you now, okay, Dean? I have to see what we're dealing with here so I don't make it worse. Will you let me help you, Dean. Please?" 

Dean was mortified. He didn't know how to explain some of his injuries, but he knew Sam had a point. He couldn't just show up on Sam's doorstep and then die or anything. He nodded.

"Good, first we need to get all those layers off of you." That's exactly what he did. He got the jacket gently pulled over his shoulders first, and the two shirts at the same time, to torture him as little as possible. Dean was sweating buckets by now and clenching his teeth throughout. 

Sam fared no better. He tried to cause Dean as little pain as possible, but it seemed like everything was just affected. Once the chest was bare, he saw the full extent of it. 

"My God, Dean" Sam bit his lip. It really did look very bad.  
Dean watched Sam's reaction and dared to look down at himself.  
Yeah, no wonder Sam was so shaken up.

His ribs were protruding, his belly was caved in. Huh, he didn't know when that happened. Had he lost that much weight? And his skin. There was almost no place that wasn't bruised. 

"I think two of the ribs are broken."  
Sam nodded and palpated his ribs. Yes, definitely broken.  
"It feels like a clean break, though. We can bandage them up, no problem. Damn, the werewolf must have weighed 300 pounds". He didn't need to mention the weight loss. He could see Dean not feeling well and didn't want to talk about it. It would help nobody to pry.

"Okay, it's like this. I have a bathtub. I think it would be best if we let the bruises soak a little bit and that way we can get rid of the blood that you have especially in your hair. And then I'm going to bandage your ribs and make you some soup, maybe? And you just got dips on the bed man, you know how to secure the best spots for yourself.

Dean head heard bathtub and tried not to freak out. Sam would see. Oh fuck, what was he supposed to say? He needed to think about it now before Sam would ask him, and he'd be completely unprepared.

Shit, he couldn't think of anything. He came up blank. Well, he knew he couldn't put it off any longer so he surrendered to his fate.

"Okay, let's get started," and let Sam lead him into the bathroom.

"OK, what's the best way to do this? I think you hold on to the sink and I'll get rid of the jeans and socks, okay?"

Dean just nodded meekly.

"OK, I'll try not to jostle your ribs too much. Hang on." And took the jeans all the way off. He knelt beside Dean and slid the pant legs over his feet and did the same with the socks. Meanwhile, he thought about how Dean had done this to him a million times when he was a kid. He was about to share his memory with Dean and looked up to see his face while telling him when his gaze landed on Dean's underwear.

His bloody underwear. Everything stopped.  
He felt hot and cold at the same time and could not look away. His hand went on his own accord to the boxer briefs and touched the lumpy structure that was under it. There was something, but.. but ... his brain could not process it right now. 

His muscles did what they wanted. He grabbed the edge of the bower briefs with both of his hands and carefully pulled them down. Something fell out of it.  
Dean whimpered.

He looked at the thing on the floor. It was stained with blood. Holy fuck, was that a pad? He looked back up and saw Dean clutching the sink, eyes closed, breathing hard.

"Dean?" He didn't recognize his own voice. Who was that, speaking his brother's name from far away, sounding like someone whose full conception of the world had just been shattered.

He kept pulling until he had the offending thing over Dean's ankle. The boxer briefs was full of blood stained pads. Oh God, Dean was. Dean had been. He couldn't comprehend what he saw. Had he been bleeding?

"Are you bleeding from your butt hole?" He was having a hard time not crying. Oh, my God. Dean had been ...raped? 

"Was it the werewolf?" he whispered. 

Dean shook his head. He couldn't tell him the truth, but he could give him something.

"No, it wasn't the werewolf. It ... it wasn't it. I'm sorry." He was sorry Sam had have to see that. If he hadn't come to him, he would have been able to live his happy life and not have to take on a burden that Dean seemed to be constantly putting on his family. 

"I shouldn't have put that burden on you. I'm so sorry." He whispered. 

Sam stared at his brother in disbelief. What on earth had been done to him? Burdened? Who had told him such bullshit?!

"Dean, please believe me. You never have been and never will be a burden to me. And, ..and I'm glad you came to me. I couldn't bear the thought of not knowing how you were doing. If you were hurting and I wasn't there to help you".

He would never forgive himself for abandoning him for a whole year. He had thought their dad would be with him, but apparently dad had just let Dean fend for himself. Who knew, maybe Dean had been on his own all year? Jesus, even on a hunt? Dean was the best hunter in the whole world, but even he needed support sometimes. He'd needed his brother, and he hadn't been there to ... to. He didn't stop it, nor could he ever undo it, but he swore he would never let anything happen to his brother if he could help it.

"Dean, I know you must be in a lot of pain. Still, we need to wash it so we can see how damaged it is, okay? I'm going to put you in the tub and bring you some more painkillers in a minute. No need for you to be in pain. Better we do that first so you can relax and soak up in the tub, OK?

Dean was glad Sam couldn't really see his face from this angle. He was overwhelmed by his feelings. His dad had drilled so many ugly things into him day in and day out. It was like a balm to his soul to see Sam standing on his side.

Sam helped him into the warm water, not mentioning the tears he saw on Dean's face. Dean wouldn't want to draw attention to them during such a vulnerable moment. Better to leave it at that for now. He would talk with Dean, but not now. He had just arrived after all.

He paused. Thank God Dean had come to him, even after this whole year. What if he hadn't? Oh, better not to think about it. He shuddered. Sam quietly cleared the bloody underpants with the sanitary pads off the floor and quickly inspected them. They were patchy, but not drenched. He didn't know how much a pad like that could absorb, but it wasn't soaked. That had to count for something. Right?

He retrieved the strongest pain pills he could find from his med kit, made a sandwich and brought them to Dean. Who was soaked up to his neck in bath water and smiled a little contentedly.

"Thanks, Sammy." He took the glass of water and gulped down the pills in one go. 

"I'm just going to get rid of your clothes really quick, okay? I think they're a lost cause. Please, take a few bites of the sandwich and I'll be right back." He made sure his brother wasn't drowning or anything, and when everything seemed okay, he closed the bathroom door and had to take a deep breath.

Damn, what was he supposed to do? It was Dean he was talking about here. Would he even let him help him? His dad would just bark a few orders and everything would get, OK yeah, certainly not better, but a little more structured. He couldn't think straight. Maybe he was in shock? If he was ... how must Dean feel right now? He didn't want to leave him alone in the bathroom too long, but he had to quickly make a call.

It wasn't right for dad to leave his son to fend for himself. Didn't he know it takes two people to hunt werewolves? Well, look what happened when you're out there alone. Shit, he had to call Dad so, he called his number.

Voice mail, oh how typical. He was going to tell him something!  
When the beep came he was staring at his couch. At Dean's jacket lying there forlornly, the only thing that had survived the whole thing unscathed. He felt totally overwhelmed and like a little kid all of a sudden. 

"Dad?" his voice was thin and distant. "I ... I need you, okay, please, it's because of Dean. I can't tell you what happened, t-that's Dean's business, but could you come? Please? I just don't know what to do. Please." and he ended the call. 

He pressed his phone against his forehead, closed his eyes and sent up a little prayer. Please let everything be okay. 

Sam put his phone away and sat down on the floor next to Dean. And was quiet. 

Sam quickly washed his brothers hair as carefully as he could while Dean slumbered until he had to get out of the tub. He stood at the sink to keep himself upright and Sam dried him off. 

"Dean?" he was dreading it, but it was important.  
"Yeah?" Dean knew what Sam was going to ask, but damn if he knew how to answer it.  
"Can I, I mean, I don't know what I'm looking at really, you know, just, we should make sure you're not hurt too bad. I can't let you bleed to death on my watch, or can I?" He tried for nonchalance, but failed by miles. 

Dean lowered his head tentatively to his chest. Crap. Sam had to look him in the ass. If that wasn't embarrassing, he didn't know what was. Still, it had to be done, so he nodded. 

Sam dreaded what he would see if he spread his brother's butt cheeks.  
Dean may have told him it hadn't been a werewolf, but then again, maybe it was and his brother was just embarrassed? Who knew. Did werewolves have knots like dogs? Did wolves even have knots? He assumed they did; after all, dogs were descended from wolves.

"Today, if it would be convenient for you, Sammy."  
Right. "Sorry."  
If it was a knot, everything would be in tatters, no one could take something like that unprepared. It's not for nothing that pornostars stretch ahead so they don't...  
"Sam?" Dean's tone was uncertain.  
"Fuck, sorry! Sorry, Dean. I'm gonna go take a quick look now." and spread Dean's cheeks. 

A small blob of fresh blood was just making its way out of his hole. And otherwise, ok, everything was inflamed and deep red. Fortunately, not torn open. It had to be internal. Shit, he didn't even know how to look at that. He told Dean. Who cleared his throat and whispered "finger?"

Dean tried to downplay it. However, a trip to the hospital was not an option. They would check the DNA, of which he was certain must be in him. And when they compared them, they would see that it was related to him. He didn't want Sam to ever know what their father had done to him. Never, if he could help it. No matter how, this had to heal on its own.

Sam thought about it. With his finger, maybe he would be able to feel if something was torn and maybe even the extent of it. "Okay, wait. I have some surgical gloves in the med kit." After slipping them on, he put some antibiotic ointment on his finger and inserted it most carefully into his brother's asshole. Dean hissed, but held still. 

Sam exhaled deeply. "Thank God, Dean. It feels like there's a small tear, about two inches past the entrance and not nearly an inch long. You really don't want to go to the hospital, though?"  
"No."  
"Yeah, okay. That's what I thought. I'll do some research on it, but I'm going to cover the whole area with this ointment first, and then tomorrow we'll see if the bleeding has lessened or, with luck, maybe stopped altogether. The mucosa and scalp always tend to bleed a lot, that's because it's particularly well circulated. I recently read that..."

"Sam?"  
"Yes, Dean?"  
"Could you please take your finger out of me right now and give me my underwear? I know you're into geeky stuff like that, but my asshole isn't interested right now. No offense, man."

Sam sheepishly stopped smearing and stood back up.  
It was way past bedtime anyway.

Sam helped Dean into a pair of sweatpants and a shirt of his and took him to his bedroom. Kept in shades of blue with a dark green comforter, it looked more inviting to Dean than a bedroom ever had. 

"Dude, I'm going to sleep for a week." You really don't want me on the couch? I don't know when I'll wake up, I'm beat."  
"No problem at all, I'll be right out there anyway, so ..." Sam definitely didn't want to leave Dean alone, but he didn't know how to ask him to share his king-sized bed. Would Dean even want someone next to him after all he'd been through? He didn't think so. It was better not to say anything and let him just go to bed.

"Do you want to wake me up every few hours Sammy? I think I have one hell of a concussion right now."  
"I don’t need to. You always snore so loudly when you are hurt that I would instantly know if you would be unconscious. And in fact, I just recently read that more than 90% cases of insomnia are caused by...".  
"Awesome." Dean interrupted, gingerly turning so that he was lying on his side. Any other position hurt too much and once he was halfway comfortably he said, "Good night, Sam." 

Sam watched as Dean settled down for the night and turned off the light.  
"Good night, Dean."  
"...and thank you, Sammy. Really, I'm lucky to have you." the last was just a whisper, but Sam heard it clearly.  
Feeling a burning behind his eyes, Sam nodded and said, "You too." he sniffed and smiled slightly, "Jerk."  
Dean was already asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

The night was uneventful. Dean snored away and Sam sat more beside his bed than on his couch. He had an irrepressible need to be near his brother. When he thought about it, how had he made it 12 full months without him? He could barely stand just being in a room with him without, he didn't know what exactly.

Yeah, they weren't like normal brothers, he knew that. Older brothers were known to make life hell for their younger brothers. How many times was he at a new school trying to keep his head down when he saw an older guy beating up a younger one just because their dad had told them to lay low. And nothing would draw more attention if an undergrad was beating up a senior.

Still, it was hard. And often enough, he hadn't been able to hold back and just had to get involved. Only to find out that the person being beaten up wasn't actually grateful for help. Be it because he wanted to stand up for himself or even because it was a relative who was tormenting them. And just because Sam had interrupted didn't mean that the person wouldn't get it all later when they came home again.

He could remember some particular bad fight, he must have been twelve or something. He couldn't have been older though as Dean was in the same school like him. So, after school he had to go back around the school building since he hadn't been able to hold back in the hallway at that day when he saw a really small looking student being pressed against a locker by what appeared to be the school's quarterback. The size difference was just ridiculous. So, he had told them that and then a little more.

As thanks he got screamed at from the younger one why he was "even meddling as a freshman, don't you have any friends of your own?" until the quarterback sneered at him "get lost and if I ever see you again you get the whupping of your life". As if. 

Well, round the school block it would be for a while then. He didn't know that this was exactly the meeting place of the older ones and it was too late to turn back. They already had seen him. The older guy from before which was built like a cabinet slowly approached him and asked "now you are not so big-headed, or are you, little freak? What did you think would happen if you became involved in family affairs?"

Huh? Sam just thought what he had meant with that and just saw a fist flying in his direction. He dodged. "Oh, little guy plays Dodge ball? Maybe you would like to play a game then? You are the ball!" With that he was rushed by four guys and from his side angle he could see the young boy he had tried to help earlier. His face full of hate with flying fists and screaming about how he had embarrassed him and his brother. Who would have guessed... 

Well, that should teach him to get mixed up in the problems of other people again.

He fought with everything his brother had taught him. "Don't play fair, Sammy. The others certainly aren't, so you don't care about them. When you go up against bigger ones, don't forget they have the advantage of being stronger. However, you have the element of surprise and you are more swift. Use that. And if you have to bite, throw dirt in their eyes or even spit in them. You do it! You hear me? No misplaced modesty. If you are overpowered, then fight like a hellcat! You got it?" He heard his brother’s speech in his mind.

He would have nearly made it, too, if the smallest of them hadn't pushed his way through the crowd and covered his mouth with great force. Sam's eyes widened. Is this guy deranged? He struggled, but realized how this asshole was pushing harder with his other hand, squeezing his nostrils almost completely shut. 

That would have been the end of him, had he not have been able to hear there, in the distance the best thing he could have imagined.  
"HEY! If you don't let my brother go right the fuck now, you are death even before you hit the ground! You hear me, you fuckers?"

They scrambled down from him and he had to take a few deep breaths first.  
Somewhat dazed he saw how Dean was standing there with his gun in his hand and pointing it at the - huh - not the jock. He was pointing it at the little brother. He didn't even know their names, he noticed. They would have killed him and he didn't even know their names. In retrospect, it was a little funny that it seemed important to him at the time. Yet, as a child then, yeah, he could see that.

He couldn’t even imagine having an older brother who would hate him. He would stand up for Dean the same way if the situation arose, he was sure of it. He nodded and looked at the fleeing crowd. 

"All right, come on. Let's go. You up for a little brother time, heh, Sammy? I hear the movie theater here isn't too bad, and they use real butter with their popcorn," his shoulder nudged against his. "Huh, Sammy?" Looking up at Dean's face, he saw that he must have been as shaken as he was. His eyes were practically pleading for him to be okay. That he hadn't been too late. That everything would be all right again. 

He realized something that day. 

Their love for each other was deeper than just brotherly. And one day, given the right opportunity, the two of them would no longer be able to suppress it. One day, they would both realize that the two of them needed each other to be truly happy. Until then, they could try to live their lives like everyone else. Striving for happiness, whatever that was for each of them.

Yet, now that he had Dean with him again. He knew his happiness was right there. Now it was up to Dean to come to the same conclusion.

The next morning came earlier than usual, or so it seemed. Just asleep and already it was morning. Dean groaned. He felt like, uh, it was too early for any analogies in his head.  
"Saaamm?"  
"Yeah?" came from right behind him.  
"Wuah! Ah fuck, my ribs. Don't do that to me, you fucker!" Dean turned slowly to face his grinning brother and looked into his slightly apologetic eyes.  
"What are you even smiling about?  
"Nothing. I was just thinking about something, that's all."  
"Yeah, you want to share it with the class?" 

"No, but the next round of pain pills is waiting for you and I even made bacon for breakfast. Am I awesome or what?"  
Dean had to minimize his answering smile so as not to hurt his split lips too much now that they had apparently stopped the bleeding. Oh, yeah. That reminded him that he needed to look a little more south after the bleeding there. He looked under his blanket, sulkily.

"I did that while you were sleeping. Just took a quick look, I promise, but it stopped bleeding, so no hospital needed," Sam beamed. 

Dean was relieved and nodded. "Good, I can't show my ass anyone, you know? They couldn't handle that much beauty anyway." Dean waved his hand dismissively and Sam had to suppress an eye roll. 

"Yeah, come on Sleeping Beauty." He helped Dean out of bed and accompanied him to the bathroom, but closed the door and waited outside for his brother. If he was going to stand with his ear to the door most of the time, just to make sure Dean didn't fall or anything, no one needed to know.

The day was ... OK, it was annoying. Dean wasn't someone who liked to be coddled. He was always trying to look tough. Even though Sam was telling him for the third time now to relax, to take it easy, he just loved a few days of doing nothing and needed a little relaxation for himself. Studying was hard, after all, but Dean just felt like he had to do something.

If he couldn't do his morning run, then maybe....  
"No, absolutely not. You just lie down here," Sam pointed to the couch "and I'll read to you or something. With a concussion like yours, you shouldn't be watching TV, hell, you should be lying in a dark room right now, not even wanting to watch anything."

"Yeah. No. It's bad enough you're trying to push vegan bacon on me. I mean, who makes this shit up anyway? Urgs. And not only am I not even allowed to watch TV anymore, no, I'm not even allowed to listen to music? That sucks, man."  
"Yeah, yeah. Tell me about it. And I said don't listen to your music, not music in general. I could turn up some radio station that plays soft, relaxing music so as not to overload your brain. Your brain needs peace and quiet right now." 

"You need peace and quiet right now" muttered Dean.  
"What?"  
"I said, then I'd really rather listen to your voice than turn on some crap station like that." If he didn't think he'd just tip over the couch trying to roll his eyes right now...

"Would it cheer you up if I went on a little grocery run and brought you back some real bacon? Maybe even a steak? This is a college town, they have pre-made meals that you only need to put in the microwave. They're really good." 

Dean perked up at the prospect of bacon and now had to hold back his drooling.  
"You know you spoil me. Oh, and Sammy?"  
"Yeah?" Sam stood up, patted his pants pocket to make sure he had his wallet with him, and headed for the door.  
"Don't forget the pie!" Dean's smile rivaled any lightbulb.  
"Have I ever?" he replied with a smile, shaking his head. "Thirty minutes, tops. And don't touch anything!"  
"Yeah, yeah. Only lying and breathing is allowed. I know!"  
"That's right!" and Sam was out the door.

Sam wondered if he should grab more than just steak. Dean was awfully thin, he would have to eat more calories anyway, and after the last poker game, he had the money.

Some snobby students had invited him over, thinking he would be an easy target. Yeah, not so much and now they knew it too. He had enough money to spoil Dean. Just like he deserved. 

He knew his brother had stretched their food sometimes because they never knew when dad would be back. It wasn't like they had to steal or anything, no, they just had to call Pastor Jim or Bobby when they ran out of money. Still, it was the little things. 

They always bought the cheapest store brands, products from the bottom shelves. Even if they tasted like crap. He could remember once giving Dean a pack of his favorite peanut M&M's for his birthday and Dean had been really happy. That was a really good gift for them at the time. Not the cheap ass chocolate that didn't even really melt in your mouth. No, the really expensive brand. That one you had nearly to stretch at the shelf to get it as a child anyway. Or a ten dollar pasta box. Just pasta with nothing in it. Even today he thought that was a ridiculously high price for just something like noodles.

So most of the year they had only the cheapest of meals for them, but sometimes Dean would just whip out some fancy stuff and they would indulge. And his smile when he did that? Like he'd won the lottery when Sam was happy as a clam about it. 

He sighed. Yes. Dean deserved everything and more. He would ensure that he would get it all in return, and plenty more from Sam.


	8. Chapter 8

While he was lost in thought, someone had come up right next to him and patted him on the back. 

"Hey Sam, long time no see. What have you been up to?"

"Oh, Brady. Hey. Uh, nothing. Just, shopping I guess." Brady was a good friend, but for the past few weeks he'd been totally letting his studies slide and wanted to devote more time to parties. He kept trying to invite Sam to them too, even with the prospect of introducing him to some girls he knew, but so far he'd always declined. Now that he had Dean with him, he didn't want to meet those girls anyway. And Dean wouldn't like some frat parties neither.

"You're guessing? Who do you have to feed with all of that? You have a girl with you?" pointing at the already half-full shopping cart.

Huh, he hadn't even noticed how much he already had in there.

"No, no. Just ... family. You know." He wasn't really paying attention to Brady anymore and looked at his watch. Shit, he had to hurry. He didn't want to leave Dean alone for too long. Possibly he had tried to go to the bathroom himself, fell, and now lay there wedged between the wall and the toilet. Jesus. He distractedly said a quick bye as he passed and made his way to the checkout. 

"I'm back! Please tell me you aren't wedged between the wall and the toilet!"  
"What?" That's what you think about when you're not at home, Kinky McKinkerton?"  
"Oh, shut up" Sam giggled and put the bags on the kitchen counter.  
"Woah, this all you get? You bought the whole store or what?" Dean said to himself while slowly sitting up. Sam hurried to his side and helped him up.  
"Come on, show me. What good things did you buy for me?"  
Sam proudly presented one highlight after another.  
"Wohoo, Sammy. You won the lottery or do I have to bury a few bodies for you, you sure had to kill a few people for all of that" Dean joked, but when he saw the pie he let a lout Whoop and searched for a fork.

Sam helped him back onto the couch, made sure he had everything he needed, and watched as his brother ate the whole pie for himself. Dean tried to give him something, but he just shook his head. He thought about how thin his brother had gotten and how it could have come to this. 

Dean loved to eat. And he didn't suspect he was bulimic at all, no, if he ate something it had to go the natural way to get back out of his body. He snorted, yeah, this is some of Dean's sayings right there. They were just so inseparable, he even thought like his brother sometimes. He had to ask Dean about it sometime in the near future.

The rest of the day was uneventful. Dean slept most of the time, or rather dozed. Sam read a few papers and then from a book, just enjoying his brother's companionship. 

Dean smiled fondly at Sam. How he had missed him. It was just so, ...so perfect to be with him again. Maybe he could get a job nearby. The apartment would be big enough and if Sam met someone, he could take an apartment nearby on his income. 

He felt a twinge in his heart. A familiar problem for him, but he had vowed never to stand in Sam's way. Even though he found the thought of Sam losing his heart to a woman almost unbearable.... he would be happy with that. Or at least make it seem that way. If Sam had a girlfriend. Hm. He had never really thought about it, but Sam was all alone in here? Wasn't he supposed to live in a small room with some stoned roommate and live from day to day? No, he had skills. He must have saved his earned pool or poker money so he could focus on his studies. Yeah, that's more like his Sam.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"  
They both looked at each other in surprise.  
Oh, did he actually say that out loud. Huh, concussions were a bitch.  
Sam shook his head.  
"Why not?"  
Silence fell. 

Sure, Dean had felt Sam's teenage gaze, and yes, he'd even puffed up a little under it. Still, he'd thought it was just a phase at that time. They couldn't both feel the same when they were in the same room, or could it really be? How they were magnetically drawn to each other. How Sam's eyes lit up when Dean made him laugh. And how Dean felt with all his heart when Sam laughed so heartily at one of his jokes. How they walked through the street rubbing shoulders even though there were yards of space to their left and right. How he felt totally comfortable right now, even though his body was totally fucked up.

Huh. He had never allowed himself to think about it so closely before. Figured if he thought about Sam like that for a minute that would be normal. Still, now? Was it normal he wanted Sam to sit at his back so he could lean against him? Not just see, but to feel him. Alive, healthy and, and be with him? Just him, no girlfriend at all. He didn't think so. Oh fuck.

Sam waited. He sensed that Dean just needed a moment. He was thinking to himself if he should just say what he felt? Was it too fast? Dean had only been there for a day ... Still, it wasn't like they just got to know each other. No, basically the two of them have always felt that way about each other, he was sure of that. They just hadn't told the other about it and had been on hold so to speak. Fuck it.

"I didn't want to settle for the second best. So, no. No girlfriend. I was living here alone, hoping I would be able to be with you one day. You know, together and in love. Yeah, I said it. I'm tired of pretending I'm not. You know how I feel for you, right? You know that's your home too?"

Dean just looked at Sam. Yes, he's always been able to read between the lines. All those years. The years that had passed. Thinking back now, why didn't he go with Sam. His father ... no, not thinking about him. He shouldn't pollute this precious moment either. He had been a coward all along. Just why? Was it the gay thing? The incest? Wuh, yeah, that's a really harsh word.

Anyway, they were both consenting adults. Would it really be that bad? Who did they even know that would recognize that they were brothers? Sam lived here all alone, no one had to know they were related. He could change the name, couldn't he? He glanced at Sam. He had taken his hand and was holding it in both of his.

"You know you're my number one, right, Dean?" that was such a huge leap forward. He could hear his heart hammering in his chest and was sure Dean knew what he wanted to say. They were always on the same wavelength, how could it be any different in this case? He knew that this whole thing was really unexpected now, but really it was their whole lives in the making.

Dean had to clear his throat.  
"You know we can never tell anyone we're brothers then, right? What happened to your normal? I hate to say it, but incest - there, he said it - is anything, but normal."  
Sam nodded. "I couldn't care less."  
"Okay, but you know even if I wanted to have sex someday, and I'm telling you it wouldn't be any time soon, with anyone," he looked meekly at Sam, who put on his understanding puppy dog eyes and nodded his head to Dean's words, "oh who am I kidding. I know you're Mr. Understanding and you'd probably live like a monk for the rest of your life."  
"For you, I would. Yes." Sam spoke with absolute conviction.  
Dean looked lovingly at Sam. "Yeah, that's what I thought. My Sammy, the good guy through and through. But, no. I want sex. I love sex. Just, not right now, really. And, and I don't know if I ever want to be the ... uh, catcher? You know?" He didn't know the right phrase now, but he thought his meaning came across pretty well.

"I never imagined you in this role either, to be honest". He ducked his head.  
Sam had already imagined the two of them? Okay, that was hot.  
"Just with you, I'd just talk about it and not getting any, I swear, Sammy. Okay, so. Enough of this chick flick and come here. I've been wanting to lean against your chest all day. Now that we're clear about that." Just because they were together didn't mean he had to grow some girl parts, braid hair as a hobby and watch Sleepless in Seattle or anything. Less talking more cuddling. Uhm, manly cuddling.

"Male cuddling, Sammy. Male cuddling."  
Sam chuckled and took his place at the head of the couch. With a little maneuvering, he had Dean leaning securely against him, and was currently thinking if only they'd talked about it a little sooner. They had already lost so much time.  
"More head scratching and less thinking, Sammy".  
"Phew, are you always going to be this demanding in our relationship now, baby?" he paused. Maybe he had it all wrong and Dean wasn't ready now to actually say it out loud and therefore make it real.  
"Together Sammy. Sorry, no take backs. You just got me, you can't change your mind now. Ever."  
Sam beamed. "Gladly." 

That night Dean didn't want to sleep in this big bed alone so he turned to his brother and said, “Sammy, come on. You are like a heating pad, come so I can spoon you.”  
"Spoon me, really?" yet, he just crawled into bed and put Dean's arm very carefully over his chest. 

Both had not had such a restful sleep for a long time. 

The next morning Sam was woken by a cold feeling against his crotch. A wet, cold feeling. He opened his eyes and saw that they had to have changed positions while sleeping. He was spooning Dean now in his arms and Dean was … He was lying in a wet puddle in their bed. Oh fuck. He had to close his eyes and suppress the feeling of absolutely deep sadness that overcame him at that moment. 

Dean had peed in the bed. When he woke up...  
"Yeah, I know." whispered Dean. “I'm so sorry, Sammy.”  
Dean was devastated. He would have thought that all the good that connects him to Sam would outweigh the bad. He couldn't even remember if he'd even had a nightmare that night. And nevertheless. Bed wetting. What a shame. 

He didn't notice how this sentence in the dark voice of his father was stored in his mind. That was what their father had said to them when they were still children and everyone had their own bed-wetting time. After Dean had to learn how to shoot as he was only five years old… He was rather astonished that he hadn't peed in bed all the time until now.

“It’s nothing Dean. Please, I know what you are thinking right now. I know what Dad said to us as we were kids, too. Don’t, just don't listen to it. You had a traumatic experience. And you survived. Nobody would blame you. It’s more important that you had a long and good night sleep so your body has time to heal your injuries. Fuck the bed, I will wash the sheets and everything's OK again.”

Dean was the next few hours in a funk, but after lunch his mood rose again. What he went through was nothing common. Yeah thank god, he thought. He was allowed a few freedoms, wasn't he? After he told Sam that and even mentioned in a giggle fit how, “water sports may be on the agenda from now on, Sammy” he thought the pillow against his feet (the furthest place from his brain-shaken head) he had deserved this. 

On the fourth day everything got a little better. He could stand to watch TV for a few hours again, but just found that daytime tv really sucked. Until he found some Spanish soap opera and got sucked right into it.

Sam was just on the way again to get more food when there was a knock on the door.  
“Have you forgotten your key?” Dean got up carefully from the couch and went for the door. "Why didn’t you just holler for me, huh Sammy" … his breath got stuck in his throat, because in front of him stood none other than his father.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean is not proud of it, but he screeched and tried to escape. Where to, he didn't even know, just away. As he stumbled back into the apartment, his father calmly closed the door and came toward him.

"I didn't know what I'd do if I found you here, you know? You have to believe me, I didn't plan it. I just know I can't let you tell Sam lies like that, that's all. You know Sam called me? You should have heard him. His whining and begging. At first I thought I had you on the phone, I really had to hold my phone away for a second to look at the caller ID again. But, no. That wasn't you, that was really my youngest. It seems like everything you touch turns to shit. Don't you think so, too? Or how do you explain to yourself why everyone around you turns INTO SIESSIES LIKE YOU!!!"

The last words boomed through the apartment and John lunged at Dean, who had tried to lock himself behind the bedroom door. John pushed open the half-closed door and Dean fell to the floor. His ribs were screaming at him. John was on him in a flash. He dragged him across the floor to the bed and threw him on top of it.  
"You know. I really thought you had it figured out after the first time. Turns out you're too stupid even for that. But no problem, there's more where that came from. Then, I'll just repeat it until you get it." With that he pulled Dean's sweatpants down to his ankles and his underwear followed next.

Dean tried to crawl away, a chorus of "not again, please, no" in his head, but the few inches he just managed John just yanked him back. He could hear the belt buckle and started to panic. 

"No, Dad, please, please. Don't. I can't. I ... can't again, please. I'll do anything, just don't, please. I'LL BE GOOD. JUST, PLEASE, I'LL BE GOOD!"  
He couldn't even hear what he was saying anymore. His words whirled together, helplessly, his shaking body pressed down by his father's hand on his back. He couldn't breathe properly, his father half on top of him, his ribs hurting so badly. Everything was focused on that one moment when he felt his father try to press his fingers into his ass. He let out a muffled scream and suddenly ... he could breathe again.

"You son of a bitch! YOU DID IT! You raped my ... You raped Dean?!" A loud crack was heard as Dean tried not to pass out.  
His heart was hammering wildly in his chest. Sammy was here! Thank God, oh God, Sammy was here. He carefully rolled onto his side and tried to see what was going on. He saw his dad first hit the wall and then fly into the closet. He landed in a heap on the floor and stopped moving.

He must be unconscious, he thought flatly.

"Dean! Are you okay?" Sam knelt on the bed in front of him, his hands searching for injuries on his chest. He didn't dare touch him where he was naked.  
Please be okay, it ran like a loop through Sam's mind.

He had been on the way to the store when he got a queasy feeling.  
At first he thought he should just shake it off, Dean would laugh about it, he'd be fine. It was just his concern for his brother that would make him act like a mother hen. Still, he turned and ran back to his apartment. When he opened the door, he froze.

He could hear his father. He was talking in a manner he had never heard his father talk like that before. To no one.  
As if he was talking to the lowest thing that exists out there right now. Not even during a hunt had he ever sounded like that. And then he heard Dean's pleading "please, not again ... I can't ..." and he saw red.

He had always thought it was just a figure of speech. However, now he could understand what it meant. He literally saw everything tinged and as if zoomed in, only his father, illuminated by a spotlight, kneeling on the bed. He was just opening his ... his ... pants. And then, Sam just punched him.  
He couldn't stop himself. He just threw punch after punch, and when his father tried to fight back, he grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the wall. Where the fucker came flying back, even if it wasn't by choice. So, he gave him another shove and hurled him into the closet.

Instantly forgetting his father, he knelt beside Dean. Oh God, his father had ... He couldn't even imagine it.

"Dean, please come. We're getting out of here." He helped Dean up and quickly made sure he hadn't been too late. That Dean wasn't bleeding again. He was relieved. No new damage. At least physically. He pulled up his underwear and pants and cradled him against him. Dean just went along with it. He must be in shock. He didn't want his brother anywhere near their father. No. Just John. That wasn't a father, he didn't deserve that label.  
He had to get Dean to safety first. Then, he would make sure John could never hurt Dean again. The cruelest ideas of castration flashed through his mind, but he had to focus on Dean for now, who was ashen-faced. Shit, he really was in shock.

They stumbled outside and Sam saw the Impala parked there. Thank God Dean had given him a spare key. He fished it out of his wallet with one hand and put Dean next to him in the passenger seat. He was only going to drive him a few blocks away. There was a park that would be a good place and not too far away, so he could run back by himself and ... and ... He didn't want to think about it.  
He talked to Dean. That everything was fine, that he was safe. He would never leave him alone again. "I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry." After a while Dean felt himself again.

"It's not your fault," came the quiet voice from his brother.  
"Thank God, Dean. I ... didn't know. I'm so sorry, I called him. It's all my fault. I didn't know and I called him to ... to help me." He sniffled. "I was afraid I couldn't help you and I just wanted Dad to help us." he whispered the last word brokenly. He had been so stupid.  
"It's not your fault" Dean said in a certain tone of voice "I didn't want you to know that, you know. That it was ... it was him".  
"Yeah, God, I'm so sorry."

Sam dreaded the answer to his next question, but he just had to know. 

"How long did it go?" Sam rounded a corner and parked the car.  
"Just this once, Sam. I swear. He's never done that before. And I never thought ...," he had to suppress a croak. No, he would not shed another tear over that son of a bitch, ever again. He looked at Sam.  
"I don't want to talk about him again, but I just have to make you understand. 

Dad left the train of reason a long time ago. I didn't see it. All year long he treated me like crap. I don't know why I put up with it, maybe I thought I deserved it or something. I don't. It was just insults and his typical orders. Only worse. I missed you so much and I thought better him as family than nothing."  
Sam nodded. It was so hard to hear what their father had done to Dean. He should never have gone to Stanford. If he had known that ...  
"I'm so sorry I left you behind. I should have taken you with me whether you wanted to or not. I needed you with me and I was just such a coward to tell you that."  
"No, Sammy. Don't blame yourself. That was Dad's specialty back then, don't do it to yourself. We both didn't know how it was going to end and what happened. No one could have predicted it at all." He cleared his throat. "What are we going to do with ... with him?" 

"Do you want me to kill him? I would, you know. He's just a monster like any other out there, he would deserve it!" Sam was hateful. He knew he would be able to kill him. John would have had it coming.  
"No."  
Sam looked startled. "What, why? He had ..."  
"I know what he did, I was there," he looked at Sam and tried a small smile, but couldn't really manage it, "but I don't want you to take that onto yourself. He's still human, though. We don't kill people, Sammy."  
Sam thought about it. Fuck.

"Still, what are we supposed to do?"  
"I don't know. Unified, we stand against him. Make it clear to him that we never want to see his face again. And if we would ... we'd kill him. Fair warning and all that."  
Sam didn't like that, but he could see Dean had made up his mind.  
"OK, Dean. Still, if you change your mind, just let me know."  
"Yes, Rambo. I know." He looked into Sam's pleading eyes and said, "enough of that. Come here" and Sam flew into Dean's arms as if he just had waited for permission to do so. At the last second he slowed his speed to avoid crashing into him, but they hugged fiercely. 

After some time, Sam said he had to go back, but Dean wouldn't hear it. They both wanted to face John, so they headed back.  
Sam helped Dean to the front door, but Dean didn't want to look weak, so he straightened up and gestured Sam to open the door. Sam unlocked it and led the way. 

Into the empty apartment.

They both looked at each other. Shit. Yet, Dean had to admit that he was inwardly glad to be able to avoid this fight.  
Sam quickly looked under the bed and into the bathroom, but seeing John was really already gone he relaxed again.  
"Do you think he was afraid of us and fled?" Dean felt his eyes closing on their own, so he let Sam help him lie more relaxed on his back.  
He lets himself sink into the mattress. Damn, he was exhausted.

Sam sat down next to him and waited for Dean's response.

"No, but I think he knows he can't do that to me anymore, now that he knows you're on my side, Sammy." Sam nodded, looking at Dean and snuggling up to him. 

"What a day." they both said at the same time. And giggled. It was probably the adrenaline that was just retreating. All the pent-up energy was swimming around inside them, but they pulled each other close and kissed tenderly. Dean didn't care about his lips at that moment, but he had to hold back when he tasted blood in his mouth. Shit, his split lips would have to make an appearance now, of course.

"Ah, Dean, your lips. Shouldn't we ... but he stopped talking when a drop of blood landed on his cheek. Dean had seen it too, they both looked at Sam's hand as he wiped a drop of blood from his cheek.  
"What?" Dean sensed another one and looked over them ... where he saw John pinned to the ceiling.

"DAD?!" all forgotten, just for that one second, they both stared in horror at their father pinned to the ceiling. His stomach was slashed and bleeding through his shirt. His eyes widened in horror and his mouth twitched as if he wanted to tell them something, but then everything around him caught on fire.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, SAM!" Dean and Sam scrambled out of bed and made for the door. Behind them, the apartment was on fire. They ran as good as they could down the few stairs with Dean's injuries and were back in the Impala. Sam drove them away as quickly as possible. That was the last they would ever see of their father... the two of them figured they weren't really unhappy about it.


	10. Chapter 10

Life soon took its regular course. After dealing with the investigators, the firefighters and all the legal stuff, including John's funeral, both were sure that they no longer wanted to stay at Stanford. 

For Sam, it had meant a kind of freedom when he didn't have known he could have that anywhere with Dean. And Dean didn't like Stanford at all, it reminded him too much of a time when he had to get by without Sam. They decided to go on a roadtrip and if they came across a hunt, maybe they would help other hunters kill the monster and save the day. But, mostly it was the world's biggest ball of yarn and sightseeing in the brutal heat from the Grand Canyon. 

Dean's injuries had healed well and they had even moved on to kissing and a few hand jobs. Dean had even tried to give him a blow job, but he needed more time to really get comfortable with the idea of a cock in his mouth. Even if it was connected to his brother, who he loved like nothing else.

"You know, they should close this thing in the summer? It’s too hot to even think down here" Dean was in a bad mood. All his life he had been looking forward to seeing the Grand Canyon and now that he was there? Hot as hell.  
"I mean, why don't they tell you about being cooked alive, huh Sammy? Just PR bullshit." Sam just nodded. He heard Dean complaining since they had started sightseeing about three hours ago and he wouldn't stop. 

"Deaaann. Can't you enjoy the experience? We're here and it's monumental. Can't you see that?"  
"Yes, monumentally stupidly hot. That's what it is. Come on Sam, I say we go back. I'm tired of sweating out 10 pounds here."

Sam sighed. Great. Okay, yeah, he also hated the feeling of his clothes sticking to him in all places. It's just, they'd always wanted to come here, and now they should just go already?  
"Can't we just?"  
"No."  
"Why not?"  
"Are we five again, Sammy?"  
"No," Sam was startled to notice that his lower lip was making something resembling a little pout. He pushed it back into place and tried again.  
"Still, can't we come back tomorrow and take a little canoe trip? I found a brochure in our room. It looks like fun."  
"Is it cooler there? It's in the water, it has to be, right?"  
Sam just shrugged.  
"Okay, maybe. I'll have to let my sunburned face make that decision."

"But,"  
"Christ, you really are a child. All right, do I have to bribe you first? What could little Sammy possibly want from his big brother, De?"  
"You're such an ass sometimes." Sam snorted.  
"No, I'm awesome and you know it. And I just had a hint of what little Sammy might really want." He wiggled his eyebrows.  
Sam just stood there thinking. What did little Sammy ... "Oh!" he blushed.  
"Awww, so cute. Come on, before I get burned. If that happens, playtime's over before it even starts," with that, Dean trudged back toward the hotel. 

The climb was hell, they had to take many breaks, and they were glad they had read the pamphlets advising tourists to always carry plenty of water. Now they knew that every drop in that burning pan was precious. 

At night, they couldn't even lift their little fingers, so playing had to fall by the wayside.

The next day was just lying around and making most of the for once amazing AC unit in their room. It was like being in a freezer and they both loved it. 

They were watching some talk show where some poor guy was about to find out for sure that he was the father to some brat, when Sam stroked Dean's belly and looked deep into his eyes. After a while he purred, "Oh, either this girl is getting you hot or you're just happy to see me?" Dean looked at the TV and back at Sam.  
"What do you think, hmm, Sammy?"  
Sam's skin raised goosebumps. That low pitch of Dean's voice had a habit of doing that.

They kissed and although the couch was big, it wasn't big enough for the two of them, so they moved to the bed.

After some time, they were both naked and panting into each other's mouths. Their lips were swollen from all the kissing and Sam needed to feel more skin. He pressed his pelvis against Dean and they rutted like crazy. This was the first time they didn't even think about doing anything sexual together. They just did it. They supposed vacation had that affect on people. They were relaxed and happy. That meant that apparently sex was a possibility. 

"Yes, it is, Sammy. Would you want it, little brother?"  
"Uhhh."  
Dean chuckled. He knew how much Sam loved it when he called him that at times like this.  
"You have a little brother kink, you know that, right?" Sam looked at Dean with soulful eyes. "Yeah," he breathed.  
Dean groaned. Yeah, he had a little kink of his own. He loved it when Sam just waited to see what Dean would do next. What pleasures he would come up with and make Sam feel good. 

They had tucked the KY under the mattress, just as they had done in every motel room for the past few months. Dean knew he wanted to have sex with Sam, he just didn't know when it would feel just right for him. He thought now would be the right time. He just wanted to sink into his brother and lose himself in the sensation of feeling him. To hear Sam's moans and...  
"Uhhh, you're killing me, Sammy."

"I make you so hot, Dean? Hmm? Yeah, you want me to turn you on even more?"  
Dean nodded. 

Sam sat up.  
"Uh, Sammy?"  
"Okay, Dean, let me try something." Dean looked a little confused, but if he didn't give in a little, things weren't going to get any easier between them next time. Sex had always been easy. Now, he had to actively not think about what had happened with John, or he'd never want to have sex again. And he wanted to have sex with his sexy Sammy, damn it.  
He nodded and said, "OK, Sam. Um, what do you want me to do?" Dean couldn't get his voice to sound stronger than a whisper. Sam lie naked in front of him and was just so beautiful to look at. 

“I ... I want to try something, okay Dean? To make it easier for you. I've been doing some research and I just thought ... Yeah. Anyway. You're gonna stand there and, uh, not touch anything. Just stand there and watch me, OK?"

What else was he supposed to do in the meantime? And while Sam was doing what, exactly? Would he just jerk off in front of him? Uh, he felt his cock twitch. He had to clear his throat, and yet his voice came out in a croak as he said, "Sam, will you give me a show, you know," Dean made a suggestive hand gesture, "and I'll watch you do it? I'd like that." He smiled anxiously.

Sam's face took on a scarlet hue, yes, this was the first time they had seen each other completely naked and aroused. The hand jobs were just a few quick ones under their clothes. Mostly in the car. And the blow job had just been fumbling in the dark and after one suck it was over. Why am I so shy now, Sam thought. He had planned this and just wanted to familiarize Dean with their sex life. And it's not like Dean didn't know what he looked like under his clothes anyway. When you live your entire life together, have each other's backs, and sew things in the most unreachable places once in a while, there's no need to be shy. Showing that was something else.

Dean had never seen his erect cock before.  
"Sorry, nervous, I guess. Just, please try it, OK, if you don't like it, just say so and I'll stop? Dean's swallow sounded loud in the otherwise silent room and so he began stroking his cock. 

Tentatively at first, his eyes fixed on his brother, who was standing just in front of the bed, looking directly at his cock. Sam pushed that image out of his mind and jerked off in earnest. A low moan escaped his lips and his hand sped up. Dean couldn't take his eyes off Sam's hand as it stroked the head and twisted it. He was a little excited, he couldn't look away. 

Sam reached for the lube bottle and spread a big blob on his right hand and reached for his cock first. The bottle lay forgotten on the bedspread after that. 

"I want to try it. I want to know how it feels. And I want you to know what it can feel like for someone who wants it. Just watch me."  
Dean stared, transfixed, at his brother. He quietly moved closer and knelt on the mattress to watch closely as Sam circled his brown, wrinkled hole with his pointer finger. 

It's not like he didn't know that gay people took bigger things in the ass than someone's dick. Motel porn channels provided some sex education when you were a horny teenager and no parents around. Still, just curiosity made him watch such things. Once there had been a guy moaning like he was having the time of his life when another guy had his whole arm up to his elbow in his ass. He shuddered. 

Sam, meanwhile, was lost in the sensation. He had never touched himself there or let anyone touch his ass. His lubed up finger worked tiny circles around its edge and he could feel how sensitive it was there. He winced when he felt Dean's thigh graze his hip.

"Sorry, Sammy. I promised I wouldn't touch anything. You're so hot, you know that?"  
Sam smiled and slowly pushed against his rim. His sphincter gave the invading finger easy access, and Sam gasped as he felt it all the way inside him to the first knuckle.  
"How does it feel?" whispered Dean. He didn't know why he was whispering, he just had a feeling that this situation would require it. 

"Um, I don't know. Weird, but not bad. It's like how you gave me that suppository when I was a kid, just it's more sensual. You know?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded, but then just shook his head. "No, actually, I don't." I hated those things, never liked anything up my ass. And, with, you know. That just hurt, nothing else. So, I don't think I'd even like having a finger up there, let alone a dick." 

He shook his head, but didn't look away as Sam pushed his finger to the last knuckle. "Yeah," Sam gasped, "I know. Uh, it's not like that. It's ... I don't know how to describe it. There are so many nerves, it's like touching the tip of your dick and rubbing along it." 

His second finger slowly wormed its way in with his first finger. The stretching was a bit much, so he reached for the lube bottle again and applied a firm squeeze directly to his palm. 

"I think you're going to need the whole bottle if you're going to use that much for just two fingers, Sammy," Dean mused absently. Dean didn't process his words at first, too captivated by the sight of Sam's stretched hole around his long, slender fingers, but when he did, he shook his head at himself. As if that mattered at the moment. His brother was trying to get his fingers up his ass the first time, so he'd let him have a big pack of lube if he wanted it. God, he'd want as much as he could get for himself if he had to shove something up there.  
"Ahhhh."  
"Sam? What the hell, Sam, don't do it if you're not ready for it. You'll only hurt yourself. And trust me, you don't want to walk into a hospital and tell some pimply-faced rookie doctor why you're walking a little funny."

"Shut up, Dean. He chuckled. You know you can drop a load bigger than three fingers, so it must be possible, I just have to ... ohhhh."

Sam shuddered at the sensation he got when he stroked his prostate with his middle finger. Surely he had read about it, some funny movies told how good it would feel. He had just never thought that this feeling was somehow connected to his cock. Like an internal line that made his cock twitch a little when he stroked that little nub there. 

He groaned loudly as he lost himself a little at the sensation.

Dean gasped at Sam's display of ecstasy.  
"Sam, that's your prostate, right?" Sam nodded.  
"Does it really feel as good as they say?"  
"Yeah, oh God Dean, hmmm."  
Dean watched spellbound as Sam fucked himself on now three fingers.

Sam had completely forgotten about his cock as he thrust hard against his prostate. He could feel his precum gathering on his belly, his cock was hard as steel and his balls felt like they were ready to blow. But, he couldn't do it without a hand on his cock, could he?

Dean apparently could read his mind because he spoke aloud what Sam was just thinking.  
"Do you think you could just come like this, Sammy?" Sam gasped. Oh fuck, Dean's voice.  
"That would be so hot, little brother. Come on, you can do it. Yeah, right there. Do it for me, hmm. Show me how you like it."

Dean thought that was the hottest thing he'd ever seen. In his life.  
Sam stopped abruptly and looked down at Dean's cock. It was swollen and had to be hurting now. Dean had been so engrossed in what Sam was doing that he hadn't even thought to touch himself. 

"Dean. I need you inside me. I want to cum on your cock alone. I'm ready." He watched Dean pause for a moment, then nodded.  
"Yeah, OK Sammy. I need you, too." He grabbed the bottle of lube and put a large amount of it on his cock and hissed. Fuck, that's cold. Sam chuckled. 

"Yeah, next time I'll pour it right on your poor little hole, you'd like that better?" He was just kidding. He would never do that. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, no. If you never want to tap that again, be my guest." He smiled at Dean as he leaned over Sam.  
They looked into each other's eyes, kissed, and Dean sank into Sammy like it was butter. 

"Oh, fuck. You feel so good." They both moaned in unison and started a faster pace right at the beginning. Sam was so sensitive that he moaned with each thrust and after a while Dean was ready too. He wanted to put a hand on Sam's cock, but Sam just shook his head and so Dean got to watch Sam's cock spurt his cum all over them without even having a hand on him.  
"Oh, fuck. So hot, oh God, I can't ..." and he came too. 

They were in each other's arms, the wet spot not important at that moment, and they were golden. "You know I love you, right Sammy?" Sam looked at Dean, exhausted, but happy, gave him a kiss on the temple and whispered directly in his ear, "From now until forever, I love you too." And they both fell into a deep sleep. 

Sam must have been dreaming. He couldn't remember anything from that movie? No, images of himself and his brother starring in it. He felt as if a massive headache was approaching. Could he even feel that, while he was dreaming? Strange. The initially distorted image became clearer and clearer and suddenly he saw scenes from a life he had never lived. He could hear loud and clear accompanying sentences that made what he saw even clearer.

Snap  
“I killed Mommy and Daddy because they got in the way of my plans for you.”  
Snap  
“Look at me. It's not even that bad. Sammy?! No. No, no, no, no.“  
Snap  
“I'm not gonna let you go to Hell, Dean! “  
Snap  
“And it is written, that the first demon shall be the last Seal."  
Snap  
“It's okay, Dean. It's gonna be okay. I've got him.”  
Snap  
“Do me a favor... don't scratch the wall. Trust me, you're not going to like what happens.”  
Snap  
“I’m in Purgatory? - This is where the monsters come to prey upon each other for all eternity.”  
Snap  
“Don't you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you!”  
Snap  
“I'm proud of us.”  
Snap  
“Wait, take these pictures. And one day, when you make your way back, let these be your guide.”  
Snap  
“How did that happen?! – Well, he just went. - I'm gonna come back for you, okay? I promise.”  
Snap  
“My name is Dean W… My name is … I-I don’t know…”  
Snap  
“NO! WE HAD A DEAL!”  
Snap  
“I believe in us, Dean! Why don’t you believe in us, too?”  
Snap  
“I love you so much, ... my baby brother. Y-You tell me it's OK. - Dean,... it's OK. You can go now. - Bye Sam.”

He sat up abruptly in bed, gasping for air like a drowning man. Immediately after, a wave of the most hellish headache he had ever felt hit him. 

"Sammy? Sammy! What's the matter? What happened? Oh God, Sam!"  
Blood poured from his nose and his head felt like it was going to split in two. He knew, it hadn't just been a dream. This, was their future. If he couldn't stop it. 

"Dean," he gasped, "it's okay. I'm all right. Really. Just a migraine, I think. Never had one of those before. Shit, they hurt."  
Dean ran to get the pain pills and tripped over their duffel bag, knowing Sam's head would probably explode if he turned on the lights.  
Sam gulped down the pain pills and lay back down.  
"Dean, I saw something. I, I have to tell you!"  
"Please, try to sleep, Sam. You can tell me tomorrow, okay. First, you need to get better. See, the nose bleed is wearing off already. Whew, you know how to give a man a heart attack."  
Dean sank back into the bed and snuggled Sam close. 

The next day, his head feeling almost normal again, he told Dean everything first thing in the morning.  
Dean was shocked to say the least. 

"You, you mean a vision? Just, why?"  
"I don't know. I felt like I needed to know so I could stop it in time? I mean, before any of this could even happen. You know?"  
Dean thought about it and nodded.  
"Okay, what do we do?"  
Sam looked at Dean. Oh, how he loved him.  
"Oh, don't look at me like that. You know I'd do anything for you. What a little back-to-the-future spirit to save our lives, you know?"  
Sam beamed. 

"I've been thinking about it. I was twenty-two when it all started in my vision. So we're about three years in the past, nobody would see us coming. There's some Colt that shot this Azazel demon guy, some Daniel Elkins has it and wouldn't give it to anyone until he was dead. So, we steal it, I know what the demon meat suit looks like, I know what happens if he is in a town, so we can look for it online and when we find it, we shoot it."

"That way he can't kidnap me, I don't get stabbed, you don't have to sell your soul for me, and that way Lucifer stays where he is." 

Dean and Sam looked at each other. 

Yesterday their biggest problem had been not getting sunburned, and now they had to find a Dolorian and drive for their own future.  
"You're thinking about the 'Back to the Future' movie right now, am I right?"  
Dean beamed.  
"Just the way I like my men, Sammy. Smart and bonded." 

It took a total of five months, but it was exactly as Sam had foretold.  
The yellow-eyed demon didn't see it coming. 

And history rewrote itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished. Just my opinion, but I think John got exactly what he deserved. And Sam and Dean in the end too. :)  
> What do you think?


End file.
